Charlotte's Choice
by Allemande
Summary: A companion piece to Defence Against the Dark Creature, this short fic tells the story of how Connie Jennings, the Centre's Muggle Studies teacher, met Charlotte Merlot - and with her, magic.
1. The madwoman who won our hearts

_Author's Notes: This begged to be written. Literally. It sat there in my head wanting desperately out, so I wrote it, most of it on one day. I hope it gives you a better understanding of Connie's character, and of Charlotte's past and decisions – it has certainly done so for me!_  
  
Chapter 1: The madwoman who won our hearts  
  
We had had a particularly bad start of the year. Three children who, after years and years of searching, had finally been found foster homes in November and December, all came back to us in the first few months of the new year. Explanation: not compatible. I had to say I wasn't exactly surprised in George Lonston's case, since he had always been a stubborn and disobedient kid - which was why his return added to our worries. And Henrietta Enderleigh's foster parents had seemed odd to me from the first day, though I'd never been able to nail it down to anything particular; and – I'm ashamed to admit – convinced myself that it was just personal dislike from my side.  
  
But Kate? Shy, sweet, attentive little Kate? What was wrong with her? The Carltons would not give us a more concrete answer, so we were left wondering what had gone wrong. I couldn't imagine for the life of me that it had been Kate's fault; and while I told myself that, obviously, there must be something wrong with the Carltons, and that it was better for Kate not to have grown up with such a screwed up family, it still wasn't easy hearing her crying herself to sleep every night.  
  
So, again, our number was up to thirty-two. It had seemed like an achievement – if only symbolic – to finally have reached a number below thirty. Now, naturally, our morale wasn't very high. The return of George, Henrietta and Kate seemed to lie like a bad omen over the whole year that had only just started. And the children were similarly discouraged.  
  
Steve had given us all a talking-to two weeks before. I loved Steve. I had loved him ever since I had started working at the children's home, and everybody besides him knew. Even the kids knew. It was so embarrassing whenever one of them, unaware of the effect, made a casual remark referring to my obvious distraction whenever we were in the same room. But Steve had to be the slowest, thickest guy I had ever met; I was positive he had no clue at all, and I had never been the kind of person to openly show my feelings.  
  
But while he was the most clueless man I knew, he was also the most caring and active. He had been director of the children's home for the last six years, and had done all the fundraising himself – grants were few and far between from the council. One of the things I liked most about him was the fact that he had given up a successful career as an engineer to work for the Plymouth Children's Home, despite the low pay and long hours that care workers had. That man...  
  
Ahem. As I was saying. Steve had given us a talking-to, thanking us all for our perseverance, and asking us not to be demotivated by this turn of events. Doubtless this speech also had to do with Oliver's sudden departure at the end of January.  
  
"Okay, so we're back to where we started,"Steve had said, pacing through the room. "It's Connie, Mark, me, and Dorothy on weekends. We've managed before, haven't we? And we've got Leticia now. Admittedly there are slightly more kids than there were six years ago. But hey, where's the difference between sixteen and thirty-two?"He had grinned, knowing full well that our situation was _much_ worse than it had been, and not caring one bit. God, how I loved this man. And he had said my name first.  
  
But things didn't improve as the year progressed. Leticia, a care worker who had joined us in December, returned to Barcelona in April. The strain had been too much for her, she had been too delicate. Secretly, _very_ secretly, I wasn't too sorry. She was whiny and ineffective, and moreover, she was very pretty.  
  
However, we were really getting desperate. We were just three people now, three people for thirty-two insecure, bitter kids. Dorothy had a full-time job as a dentist, she lived in Oxford – and she was pregnant, so she would soon have no time at all. It felt as if we had been putting up advertisements all over Britain, even all over Europe, looking for care workers and for cooks to support Teresa, but the pay was _bad_ – have I mentioned how bad the pay was? The council granted the children's home just enough funds to cover all expenses and give the children a comfortable home, but they didn't seem to think that the job we did was very difficult.  
  
On a particularly depressing Saturday at the end of April, I was just setting out the dishes for dinner, thinking darkly about the snobbish family I had visited in the morning, and about George's latest prank on poor unsuspecting Dave, when there was a knock on the door. I made my way to the tiny entrance hall, expecting someone from the government, a reporter, or – worse – a new arrival, and pulled the door open.  
  
The woman standing in front of me was slightly taller than me, with blond curls, a nice smile, and – yes, that was a poncho.  
  
Where did she pop out from, I thought, and said, "Can I help you?"  
  
"Charlotte Merlot,"she said, and I instantly liked her voice. "I read the job advertisement, and I'm interested in working here. I was in the area so I thought I would come round and see what it was like."  
  
"Of course, come in,"I said, beckoning her in and cursing myself for my closed tone. She had an odd name, but her accent didn't sound foreign, so there was no excuse for her attire other than that she was a bit eccentric. Great.  
  
I led her into the dining room and continued setting out the dishes, which she offered help with instantly. I had never belonged to the proud sort.  
  
"The director will be here in a minute,"I said, as I was handing her forks and knives, "as will everyone else. Have you got experience with childcare?"  
  
"Just one year of teaching in the US,"she said. "And I used to babysit my niece when I was young. But I've always known that I was meant to work with children."  
  
I smiled. Never judge people by their appearance, Connie. This woman is what we've been looking for. Now, don't mention the money aspect just yet...  
  
"Well, we're desperately short on carers,"I said instead. "We're three and a half, so to speak, and thirty-two children; so a new addition would be more than welcome. Are you looking for full-time?"  
  
She agreed. I studied her; she looked very young. Probably just out of university, I thought. Seven or eight years younger than me, I guessed. Young and enthusiastic, and I realized she looked much like I had when I had been her age. She had a very open face, and her eyes seemed to be everywhere. She, too, was studying me interestedly.  
  
"I'm Constance Jennings, by the way,"I said, realizing in the awkward silence that I hadn't introduced myself. We shook hands, Charlotte Merlot smiled again. There had to be some sort of catch to this, I thought.  
  
"I'm not quite sure what Mark put on the adverts,"I continued. "Do you realize that this is a children's home for physically disabled children?"  
  
To my relief, she nodded, not looking scared at all. So now there was only the money aspect to be frightened of. But to my utter surprise, she brought it up herself.  
  
"In case you're wondering,"she said, smiling at me mischievously, "I also realize that this sort of children's home is never well funded. I'm not looking for a well-paid job. I'm looking for a job where I can help people, and this seems the ideal place."She grinned. "If all of the staff are as nice as you."  
  
I grinned back, relief now flooding over me in big waves. Thank you, God, wherever you've been lately. "I certainly think they are. Please excuse me for my wariness, it's a habit you will take when you've worked in this field for as long as I have."  
  
She cocked her head and smiled, as if to say: Just you wait till I've filled the children's home with a bit of young spirit. At any rate I hoped that that was what she was thinking, since we could all do with a bit of new hope and energy. If anyone were to bring that, it would be her, I thought irrationally – I had known her for ten minutes, but somehow I felt I had never met anyone so idealistic, so enthusiastic, so active. Nice change to Señorita Leticia, in any case.  
  
A month later I still couldn't believe our luck. Charlotte Merlot had moved into the children's home – or rather, invaded it. Never before had our children trusted somebody as quickly as they trusted her, and (not to brag or anything) that was saying something with me alongside her, whom they all called Auntie Connie. Steve and Mark also got along with Charlotte extremely well, even though Mark had initially been slightly sour that much of the children's attentions were now focused on her – he had always been Attention Whore and Drama Queen in one. However, Steve's and my worries about two extroverted and dominant characters clashing soon disappeared. After Charlotte had made some efforts to ask for Mark's advice here and there, and put emphasis on the fact that she didn't know half as much as he did, he suddenly declared that he 'luuuurved' the woman.  
  
Charlotte's enthusiasm, as I had hoped, gave us all new energy, and we suddenly saw new possibilities and new paths open up in front of us that we had thought were lost. Charlotte seemed to fly around the country, finding foster parents here, finding sponsors there, giving press interviews, finding a new cook... The woman was energy in its concentrated form. However, sometimes I wondered how she managed to get so quickly from one place to another – interview with _The Sun_ in London, talk with the Martins in Edinburgh, and she was back in Plymouth for afternoon tea? Whenever I asked, she said that she had been using the 'aeroplane', so possibly her parents had given her a lot of money to live on. But that inability to use normal words, and her speed in getting around the country, just added up to a lot of other oddities I soon noticed about Charlotte Merlot.  
  
For example, the woman couldn't cook. At all. And I don't mean that she wasn't very talented for it – she just had absolutely no clue about basic procedures, like cooking potatoes, making sauces or even boiling water in a kettle. When I asked how she had got along until now, she smiled sheepishly and claimed that she absolutely lacked talent for all practical things, but I didn't believe one word. And I thought that her other excuse about having grown up in France was rubbish, too. Or was she going to tell me that the French just went to restaurants all the time, and the French cooks learned to cook in England? (Now that would have been sad...)  
  
No, there was something fishy about her past. I suspected that her parents had never so much as let her move a finger while she had lived with them – but then, how had she survived during that one year in the US? And that was another weird thing. When asked what kind of school she had taught at, she said it had been a private school in Massachusetts, and changed the subject.  
  
Another thing. Her sense of fashion was extremely odd. She kept coming down to breakfast dressed in things that just didn't fit together, like, one day, a large yellow skirt and a purple jacket. I'd attributed that to eccentricity at first, but she didn't even seem to know that what she wore was unusual. (Or is that normal for eccentrics?)  
  
And there were other things, like her being unfamiliar with money – well, it was her first time in Britain after all, but when one of the kids asked her to show them some _Francs_, she claimed she didn't have any with her, and never brought it up again. _And_ she wasn't familiar with the public transport system, with financial issues, even with popular music, literature... It all tied in with my theory of her parents having isolated and spoilt her rotten. She just seemed to have no clue at all about the real world.  
  
Still, she learned quickly, and also seemed to get my hint about her clothing (I wouldn't have said anything, but I just didn't want her representing the children's home in odd clothes); and within a few months, she had almost developed into a normal person.  
  
About five months after Charlotte had joined us, another, much more pleasant Saturday, we were all sitting outside in the sun, watching the other children play in our small garden, when suddenly little Kate shrieked: "It's Dorothy!"  
  
And sure enough, it was Dorothy coming around the corner, holding her baby in her arms and grinning at everyone. Mark jumped to his feet at once, whether to stop the children from jumping on the young mother, or whether to reach her first, I didn't know. In any case, he gave her as exhuberant a hug as he could without squeezing the baby to death, and exclaimed: "Oh, she's lovely, dear!"  
  
We all stood up, grinning, hugged Dorothy and gave her our best wishes. She sat down with us for tea, and the children, suddenly uninterested in playing, grouped themselves around her and bombarded her with questions about the baby.  
  
"Her name is Hermione,"Dorothy said, beaming, "and she's very smart. She doesn't cry very much at all, and she's really curious, look how she's eyeing all of you! I bet she's going to be a scientist or something."  
  
"She's adorable,"said Steve, and my heart jumped. Oh, don't be silly, Connie, you know he likes kids. Why would you be close to fainting over him admiring a new-born?  
  
Later, when the kids had – very reluctantly – gone to bed, Dorothy stayed around for a cup of tea. We exchanged all of our news during the last few months, and Dorothy seemed very happy to hear of the upturn our children's home had seen lately. She was just in lively conversation with Charlotte when it happened – and it happened so fast that, afterwards, none of us was sure what they had seen. Hermione, who had been fixing Charlotte with her interested stare, dropped the dummy she had been holding in one tiny fist. She gave one loud wail, and Dorothy was just bending down to pick it up, when it was suddenly in Hermione's hand again.  
  
"Blimey, what was that?"exclaimed Mark. "Did you guys see that?"  
  
We shook our heads disbelievingly and blinked. "It must have bounced off the floor right into her hand again,"I offered, not very convincingly. I looked around. Everyone was looking stunned, but nobody as much as Charlotte, who was fixing the child with a mixture of astonishment and excitement. When she noticed my look, however, she smiled and shrugged. But I couldn't quite shake off the feeling that she had a different explanation.  
  
I had completely forgotten about this when it was recalled to me in the most peculiar fashion, months later. It was the first of November, and we were still busy cleaning up the remnants of the Halloween feast the night before – always a highlight for the kids.  
  
Charlotte had left the feast abruptly the night before. A letter had somehow found its way to her – how, we didn't know, since it was Saturday night – and she explained that it was an urgent letter from her parents and that she would be back the next day. She had seemed very excited, which was strange considering the many comments she had dropped about not getting along with her parents spectacularly well.  
  
I was in the dining room with Steve, rearranging the tables and chairs, as we always did since this also served as our common room. We didn't talk much. This was also normal. Either he didn't have much to say to me, or he was always distracted, or he had finally got wind of my attraction. As for me, I would have had a lot of things to say to him. But as it is, I was and I am not an extroverted person.  
  
As I was just battling with myself what would be the best way to start a conversation, and when I would finally make Steve see that I saw much more than just a colleague in him, Charlotte came bounding into the room.  
  
"There you are,"I said, relieved that the silence was broken on the one hand, disappointed that I had missed my chance on the other. "Good news from home?"  
  
She was positively beaming. Was her brother getting married, I thought stupidly. But she was holding a newspaper in her hands, unfolded it and began to read out loud.  
  
_"The Prime Minister announced today that the person who has been responsible for the disappearances and murders reported during the last years has finally been caught. The man, whose identity still hasn't been revealed, was killed last night in the attempt of fleeing from police, says the Prime Minister's spokesman, John Hensley."_  
  
Charlotte looked up at us, still beaming.  
  
"That's great,"said Steve. "Those disappearances were getting really scary, and it didn't seem like the police were doing anything, not least informing the people."  
  
_"Great?"_ asked Charlotte incredulously. "It's wonderful! Oh, never mind –", and for some reason, she seemed to dismiss her own comment with a wave of her hand. "I know people whose relatives went missing, that's why I'm so thrilled this person has finally been caught."  
  
"Oh, I see,"I said. "And were their relatives found again?"  
  
"Oh, no."Charlotte was suddenly looking very bitter. "He never held anyone hostage."  
  
There it was again. That unmistakeable feeling that Charlotte knew much more than I did. I studied her intently, but she seemed to have closed the subject, and moved to help us with the tables.  
  
Life in the children's home continued to blossom. Charlotte had found foster parents for six children by December, and Christmas was suddenly much less crowded than usual. Kate finally lived with very caring parents, which made us all very happy, but we would miss her especially around this time of year – the girl had the most angelic voice.  
  
It was at the dinner table on Christmas Eve that the owl arrived. I had just opened a window because the air was so sticky, when the owl came swooping through it, landed on the table right in front of Charlotte, and stuck out its leg, which had a thin roll of parchment attached to it.  
  
There had never been such a profound silence in the room. We stared from Charlotte to the owl and back to Charlotte again, who was looking very embarrassed. Not surprised, I noticed. Embarrassed and uncomfortable.  
  
Everyone had stopped eating. George Lonston, in the seat opposite me, had a spoonful of plumpudding raised halfway to his mouth, and the spoon's contents suddenly fell on his plate with a loud PLOP, breaking the silence. This seemed to stir Charlotte into action, who raised her hand and carefully took the piece of parchment off the owl's leg. The owl, seemingly having waited for nothing else, gave a hoot and took off through the window again.  
  
Charlotte looked at us all, an undefinable expression on her face. Then she unrolled the parchment and read what was on it.  
  
As abruptly as the owl had left, she rose, and looking at us all, said, "I have to leave for the US. I'm sorry, I'll explain later, it's very urgent." And without another word, she rushed out.  
  
Two weeks into February, we got a letter from her (delivered in the normal way). Steve read it out to all of us at breakfast.  
  
_"Dear Steve, Connie, Mark and Dorothy, dear children,  
  
I must apologize to you for leaving so quickly at Christmas, and for not writing to you sooner. Please don't think that I haven't missed you all greatly. I'll try to explain what happened.  
  
On Christmas Eve, a friend in Salem wrote to me, asking me to come and see her immediately, because her brother and his wife had been in an accident. It was a good thing I came, because when I arrived, she was in tears. Her brother and his wife haven't got better, so I stayed with her at first, trying to make sure that she was all right.  
  
Then a friend of hers came to Salem and stayed with us. He's from Colombia, and his work is quite similar to ours. This is where the bad news comes in, and this is where it gets very hard for me to explain...  
  
I went with him to Colombia to study the situation he had described to me, and I saw things there... I saw things I would never have thought possible, and I saw children whose situation is much, much worse than anything we could imagine. These children need my help.  
  
This is why I cannot come back to Plymouth. Although it pains me greatly, I've realized what I'm in this world for, if that makes sense.  
  
Thank you all for this past year – I have enjoyed being with you all very, very much, and I'm sure we'll see each other again. Remember – always hold your heads up high and don't give up!  
  
Love from  
  
Charlotte."_


	2. Charlottes comes back

Chapter 2: Charlotte comes back

Although Charlotte's departure had left a gaping hole in the children's home, the spirit she had introduced reigned on. There were only three of us, again, but we set to work with such energy, one could have sworn that she was still there. It was true that we didn't find as many foster parents as she had during her short time at the children's home – it seemed none of us possessed her tactics of persuasion. But we certainly made the children's home a comfortable place to live, and sent our children into the world with a good conscience. We even received a prize a few years later, for being the best children's home in Britain – and although we all shared a profound dislike for the press, publicity was good for the morale, and for funds. In fact, this enabled us shortly afterwards to hire a fourth carer, Sarah, who was much more experienced and professional than either of us. Of course, she was also more cynical, but you get that.

Children grew up and left, new children arrived. New carers arrived and left, among them a very attractive man called Stefano, who returned to Italy after two years, taking Mark with him. Dorothy visited us about once a month, with an ever-growing Hermione, who was soon walking and talking and, with every word she said, actively confirming Dorothy's prediction that she would be a scientist.

I was still in love with Steve. I had had no idea that I could love one man for so long... maybe it was the fact that it was unrequited that made it so durable? I often thought of something Charlotte had said to me, about two months into her time at the children's home. She had told me how impressed she was with what we had built up, and added, "I don't see how Steve could do without Mark and Dorothy. And I definitely don't see how he could ever live without you," she had added, and burst into laughter at my stunned expression. I wasn't so sure about that, but like many things, Charlotte had also improved this. I was a lot easier with Steve now, and I had the feeling that this loosened him up as well. Every now and then I thought I saw him steal a furtive look at me, and when I looked and smiled, he would quickly look away. But perhaps I imagined that.

Charlotte's letters during her time abroad came up to a total of three. Every one of them came from a different country – Morocco, Germany, and even Vietnam. None of them told us exactly what she had been doing, although she alluded to having found more children like the ones she had seen in Colombia – whatever this meant. Instead of giving details, however, she liked to entertain us all with funny stories about the respective country's people and culture. I wondered whether she was still as awkward with practical matters, but assumed that she must have learned to dress and to cook by now.

Eleven years had passed. It was another grey April evening when I was in the dining room, setting out the dishes and waiting for Dorothy. Since her daughter had gone off to a boarding school in Scotland, she came round much more often. I got the feeling that she was quite worried about this school of Hermione's, but she had never told me which school exactly it was. In fact, she seemed quite evasive whenever I mentioned the subject, but I had no idea what that might mean. Maybe Hermione was at a school for the highly gifted – I wouldn't have been surprised – and Dorothy was embarrassed by this for some reason?

If so, it would be quite silly of her, I thought, when I heard a knock at the door. Surprised that Dorothy came on time for once, I went to open it. But it wasn't Dorothy.

"Charlotte!" I exclaimed in astonishment.

"Hello you," she said, grinning, and hugged me. She looked very changed, and at the same time, still the same as always. Her hair was shorter and less curly, and her clothes were very fashionable and fitted perfectly; but her smile was the same.

"Come in, come in," I said, taking her arm and leading her into the dining room. "What a surprise! What brings you here? What have you been doing? How are you, dear?" I realized suddenly that I wasn't giving her time to reply, so I shut up.

Charlotte laughed. "I'm quite fine, thank you. How are you doing? And everyone else?"

After assuring her that I was very well indeed, I repeated my previous questions, and Charlotte laughed again. I had missed that free, honest laugh; although I noticed that she was overall slightly less cheerful. But then, that was to be expected.

"I see you're not so easily distracted," she said, sitting down. "Well, where should I start?"

"Just tell me what you've been doing, and what your plans are," I said, grinning.

"'Just'?" she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Tell you what, I'll help you prepare dinner, and then we can take a walk and I can tell you everything. The thing is, not everyone's supposed to know."

I raised my eyebrows. "They won't be very happy to hear that."

Another one of those laughs. "All right, how about this... I'll give them an abridged version at dinner, and I can fill you in later."

"Why me?" I asked. I hadn't realized I had been that much of a confidante.

She suddenly grew serious. "Because I need you."

Children started coming in at that moment and interrupted our conversation, so I tried to postpone my curiosity till later. Charlotte eyed them all interestedly, but – unsurprisingly – didn't seem to find a familiar face. Then, however, George Lonston wheeled his chair into the room – and they both gasped.

"_Charlotte!_" he said, in his pleasant baritone.

"_George!_" She grinned, stood up and bent down to hug him. "My my, you've changed! You were, how old when we last saw each other? Five. So you must be sixteen by now." She stood back a little and eyed him. "You look good, my dear boy."

George grinned, and I noticed with pleasure how much he _had _changed over the last decade. He had become much calmer, much more balanced, and much more at ease with his disability. We could really be proud of ourselves, I thought, but then shook my head at myself. No, we hadn't done most of that – it had been George alone.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, but Charlotte shook her head. "I'll give a report at dinner if you don't mind." He nodded.

There was another knock, and it did turn out to be Dorothy this time – twenty minutes late. How typical. She was equally surprised and pleased to see Charlotte, as were all the others who remembered her.

"Now, there's no beating around the bush anymore," said George, putting his fork down. "Where have you been?"

We grinned a little sheepishly at his audacity, but Charlotte didn't seem to think he was being rude. On the contrary, she seemed to think she owed us an explanation – and right enough she did.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," she began. "Yes, yes, you can groan all you like, George. I've spent the past eleven years visiting several countries, trying to find children who all shared the same ... physical disability. Not all of these children are orphans, some of them live with their parents, but some of them have also been rejected by their parents because of their disability." Disgust clearly flitted across her face, and I remarked once more how much she had changed, as well. She had grown older, more mature... and more bitter. It was a sad sight.

"I've also been in endless negotiations with the government because I want to open up a school for these children." She sighed. "It hasn't been easy, but we've reached a basic agreement."

"Oh, can we come there, too?" asked Henrietta, who, as I knew, was very unhappy in her current class at the local comprehensive.

"No, Henrietta, I'm afraid not," said Charlotte sadly. "It's only for the children who share this disability."

"But what kind of disability is it?" the girl asked.

Charlotte hesitated. "It's a very complicated one that's only been recently discovered, and that I can't explain properly. I'd need a specialist to do that for you." She smiled. And there it was again! The feeling that she wasn't telling the whole truth. Was this never going to stop? But then, I reminded myself, she had told me that I was going to know everything. I was growing more and more curious.

After another storm of seemingly endless questions, Charlotte finally managed to change the subject and asked us how we had all been. Steve then launched into a monologue about the last eleven years, but Charlotte didn't seem to mind. She was listening interestedly, and looked very content at the children's home's development. And somehow, getting Charlotte's approval of what we had been doing felt very good. How odd, since she was younger than all of us carers.

"So tell me, Dorothy, how is Hermione?" she asked.

"She's quite well, I think," Dorothy said. "She's at a boarding school in Scotland now, and – well, she's a very bright girl, so she's learning lots."

"Boarding school in Scotland," Charlotte repeated and looked at Dorothy with a queer expression, but didn't ask any more.

Later, I was alone in the dining room with Charlotte and Dorothy. Steve had gone upstairs to get everyone to bed, and since he was an amazing storyteller, that was bound to take a while. Jonathan, who had replaced Mark as a carer two years ago, was upstairs listening as well, and Sarah was on holiday in Ireland.

We were sitting together in front of the fireplace. I burned to find out more, but I didn't know whether I could broach the subject with Dorothy in the room. However, it was Charlotte – once more – who spoke first.

"I'm very glad you're here," she said, addressing Dorothy. "Because I wanted to see you, obviously, but also for another reason. You see, Connie might not have believed what I'm going to tell her, but with you here, it might get easier."

It's hard to say who was looking more confused, Dorothy or me. I certainly had no idea at all what Charlotte was talking about. Dorothy was frowning, but she was also wearing that wary look I always saw on her whenever the subject came to Hermione.

"So Hermione is at Hogwarts," Charlotte said, confirming my suspicion – although I didn't know what she was talking about. If that was the school's name, why did she know it?

Dorothy, however, gasped.

"You... you're... one... as well?"

Charlotted grinned. "Of course I am. Didn't you realize after Hermione got her letter? Didn't it explain all my oddities?"

Dorothy suddenly laughed. "You're right, of course! I should have known."

"And I should have known that Hermione would be going to Hogwarts," said Charlotte, smiling, and I was suddenly reminded of the incident with the dummy. What was going on, I asked myself over and over, but was too fascinated to ask.

Dorothy nodded. "Yes, she's very talented, it seems. She was devouring the books we got in that... alley... during all of last summer. She always learns her books off by heart, but it's never scared me, you know."

Charlotte laughed. "Oh, don't let it scare you! We're not what history has made us out to be, and with parents such as hers, how could Hermione ever use her abilities for other than good?"

I cleared my throat. Enough of this. Charlotte turned to me and smiled. "Sorry, Connie, this must all be really confusing for you."

"You can say that again," I said. "Although I'm really looking forward to the explanation for your oddities, you know."

Charlotte grinned. "Be careful what you wish for, my dear. All right then. Remember that incident with Hermione's dummy?"

I nodded. "Yes, it seemed to fly back into her hand on its own. It was very odd."

She smiled at me warmly. "You see, this is why I realized I needed you. I'll bet you anything that everyone else has completely forgotten what happened that day, or attributed it to their imagination, or found a logical, _scientifical_ explanation." She chuckled. "But you're different – you have a critical mind, and an excellent memory."

Not that I minded the praise, but I wondered where this was all leading. "So you have an explanation for that incident."

"Yes." Charlotte paused. "The dummy flew back into Hermione's hand because it was the most precious thing she possessed, and she was very scared to lose it."

I frowned. This conversation was turning very odd indeed. "Not sure I get that."

"Hermione made it fly back," Dorothy offered. "Magically. Because she's a witch."

For a full minute, I stared at them. I was expecting them to start laughing, to tell me that it was all a great joke and that I was really a very silly woman to fall for it. But something in their serious faces told me that they weren't joking.

"She's a – what?"

"A witch," said Charlotte quietly. "Like me."

I almost choked on my wine. "Like – like you? Hang on a second there. You're telling me there's such a thing as... magic? That there are witches and wizards who fly around on broomsticks, say funny spells and change people into toads?"

Charlotte giggled. "Oh, I love these stereotypes. Well, personally I've never changed anyone into a toad, but yes, I've flown on a broomstick, and yes, I use Latin-based incantations."

I shook my head slowly. Dorothy laid a hand on my arm. "It's true, Connie. I didn't want to believe it either, but when Hermione got that letter from Hogwarts – that's their wizarding school – we went to get her spellbooks and all these other items with her, and I saw people everywhere performing magic. I also saw goblins and other beings."

All I can say today is that I would never have believed anybody who came out with this sort of rubbish, had they not been two of my best friends whom I trusted very much.

"All right," I said faintly. "Suppose it's true. Can you prove it to me, Charlotte?"

She nodded. "Yes, I thought that you might want to see proof, so I obtained a special permission to perform magic in front of Muggles."

"Non-magic people," Dorothy prompted just as I opened my mouth. Charlotte then took out a slender wooden stick – a _wand – _pointed it at a chair, murmured something, and the chair turned into a live, breathing rabbit.

"Where's the hat?" I asked, stupidly, and they laughed.

"Yes, I thought you'd like a bit of traditional magic," Charlotte said. I was still shaking my head disbelievingly when the rabbit had turned into a chair again. But there was no way I could deny or forget what I had just seen. And as much as part of my brain was still trying to find a logical explanation, another part whispered that this _did _explain everything. This was why she was able to get so quickly from one place to another. This was why she had seemed so completely strange to our world at first. This was why she had often completed tasks much more quickly than I had thought possible.

"All right," I said, again. "So what do you need me for?"

"This school I'm going to open in September," she said. "It needs teachers."

I laughed. It was a slightly crazed sound. "You want me to teach witches and wizards something?" I was struck with a sudden inspiration. "How to cook, perhaps?"

Charlotted laughed. "Yes, that's one part. You see, there's a subject called Muggle Studies, which, as taught at Hogwarts, analyzes Muggle history and culture from a wizarding point of view. However, I want it to be slightly different at my school. Cooking and dressing in a non-magical way are only two of the things I want them to learn."

"Why would wizards need to learn that?" I asked, amazed. "I mean, it looks as though your world is completely hidden from ours... if we except a few centuries ago. Wizards don't live among... Muggles, do they?"

"Oh, many of them do. And these children might never live in a wizarding community." Her smile faded.

"Why?"

"Well, you know what I said about their special disability earlier? That was all rubbish, of course. These children aren't physically disabled." She sighed. "They're victims of a life-long curse."

I gulped. This was beginning to sound scary. How was she expecting me to cope with that kind of children? "Which means what in... _Muggle_ terms?"

She gave a sort of half-smile. "The term is the same. Have you ever heard of werewolves?"

This time I really choked on my wine, and Charlotte slapped me hard on the back. "I assume you have," she commented dryly.

"_Werewolves?_" I said. "But they're not... human... are they?"

Charlotte grimaced. "Well, yes, that's what wizards would have fed to Muggles. And that's also what wizards generally feed to their children, which is why werewolves are actively feared in the wizarding world. And this is why many of these children live in horrible situations."

"But Charlotte... are you _sure_ they're safe?" I wasn't doubting her trustworthiness, more her sense of judgment at this moment.

She gave a short laugh. "Of course I'm sure. They're as human as you and me. They just turn into a wolf once a month."

I shook my head. I couldn't believe she was talking about that so casually. But then, I reminded myself, she _had_ seen a lot more than I had in that respect.

"And what happens then?" asked Dorothy, who sounded similarly frightened. It seemed Hermione hadn't told her, or didn't know about werewolves yet.

"Then," said Charlotte, leaning back, "they turn into beasts, incapable of human thought. Which is why we will need security measures."

I was obviously looking very alarmed, for she laid a hand on my arm and said soothingly, "Look, Connie, I'd just like you to come and have a look at the children to convince yourself that they're as normal as you and me. I'd only need you there one or two days a week, and you wouldn't be there for full moons. Trust me, they're completely safe in between."

For a while, none of us said anything. Then Dorothy cleared her throat. "So you've been spending the last eleven years," she said, "roaming around the world looking for _werewolves_?"

"Yes," said Charlotte.

"And you want to open a school to teach them magic," I added.

"I believe that's what I said," said Charlotte, her eyes twinkling.

"You're completely off your trolley, you know that, right?" I said, and Charlotte burst out laughing.

"So will you help me? I wouldn't have asked if I hadn't seen that the children's home is going so well. I'm sure they could spare you for a day or two." She grinned. "Although one person might not agree."

"Oh, shut up," I said and grinned back. "Yes, of course I'll help you."


End file.
